Closer Than You Think
by xxDaBigOnesxx
Summary: Death had always been there. Waiting to pull someone in with it's bony hands as they surrendered to the darkness. As their body gave up the agonizing fight, and fell limp in a friends arms. It never really left. One-shot


**A/N: Another story is being presented to you. I know I have a streak of angst stories, but to me they tell the best stories and lessons. I hope you learn something from this One-shot. Sorry for any simple grammar mistakes, I proof read this five times and had my dearest friend and Beta Bubblybunny153 read it also, and there was no mistakes we could see right off the bat. Flames are welcomed with open arms.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own OHSHC, nor do I in my other stories that I forgot to disclaim. Buy hey, everyone makes mistakes.**

None of them had actually experienced death. They had no idea it was this close, practically pulling you towards the darkness. They always thought your time would be up when you're old, or if you had an incurable medical disease. They treated it like a joke, occasionally shrugging off the fact that someone else had died when they saw it on the news. The idea bored them, since they were young and free to do what they please, when they please.

Though one slip up could have you surrendering to the darkness. It would gladly take you in it's bony hands, and pull you to the unknown while your peers realized that death was always there. And it never really went away.

Sadness as great as this was a myth to them. Sure, they've seen it in movies, or on the news where loved ones were shown weeping and hugging each other close. They thought they understood their pain of seeing a special person in their lives be put in the ground. How they felt in the aftermath, when they would remember something about them, and the pain would bounce back again. But they had no idea.

There had only been one person who new the pain of seeing a loved one die. They had been in the room when it happened. They had to look at the dead one's picture everyday, and feel the pain that came with it. How they had to be careful to mention the person, in case of creating a tense atmosphere. How crying spells would happen randomly, but everyday. They were the only one who understood, but they're dead now.

It had been a dark night, and the hosts were walking back from the Christmas Ball they just finished cleaning up. Heavy was slowly falling, landing in their hair. The main attraction of the night had been Haruhi, since she finally announced that she was a girl to the school. There was no possible way of hiding her womanly assets that had sprouted over the months. Surprisingly – to her – she had a lot of male admirers who requested her services.

As they walked lights lit up the sidewalk as they took the only female hostess home. They didn't want her walking home in snow all alone at this hour, especially in that dress. A car had been offered, but then rejected with a comment about how pretty the night was, by the commoner. Sighs had been released, grumbles had been made loud enough for the whole campus to hear, and curses were whispered so only the speaker would hear. But yet they went along with it, partly because she had a whimsical expression on her face, but mostly because she had managed to capture each of their hearts, in her own oblivious way.

A light breeze blew their hair back, and laughs were released as it caressed their flushed cheeks. Jackets pulled tightly to their bodies, they walked across the street. Though the female hostess had stayed behind to unhook her dress from the fence. She shook her head when she heard the twins teasing Tamaki, altering into Tamaki complaining to Kyoya who gave him a snide remark in response.

The golden fabric tore a little as she pulled, so she hid it with her jacket. She stretched her toes in the sneakers she borrowed, and tightened her hold on her ballroom heels, before she made her move to follow the hosts. They were already on the other side when she reached the road, and they remember turning around and yelling at her to hurry up or they would leave her as they laughed.

Then they remember her stepping on the dark road, her feet making crunching noises as she called out to them with some smart remark. They remember the sudden light that lit up her body. The way she had whipped her head towards the source, before her eyes widened and she looked at the hosts with a panicked expression. The way they screamed for her to run. How Mori had been the brave one and stepped on the road and tried to grab a hold of her arm but was too late. The way she screamed still haunted them to this day. The trucks horn still echoed in their minds. And the blood.

Oh, there was so much blood. It soaked into the snow, and covered her from head to toe. They remember crying, and screaming in pain as they looked at her body. As they tried to put pressure on the wounds they thought were causing all of the blood. The middle-aged women, who had hit her, furiously called the hospital, yelling directions in the phone. The way her eyes looked at each of them once, then twice, before she smiled the smile that could make every man and woman's heart flutter. They remember her asking them if they were alright in a raspy voice, before she was ordered to quit talking. How her eyes slowly showed emptiness, and how cold her body felt. They remember begging her to stay awake, but how she slipped into the darkness as she spoke her last words.

The way the grip of her hand went limp and fell out of Hikaru's grasp was unbearable. How her head rolled to the side, off of Tamaki's lap was painful. When the ambulance came, and pronounced her dead on the spot, was the last straw. They watched, each of them gasping for breath, tears rushing down their faces, as they covered her body. The way Honey screamed in panic and ran to clutch her dead body, screaming over, and over that she couldn't possibly be dead. Mori was too shocked and broken down with guilt to even register what his cousin was doing, so Tamaki had to pry the sobbing senior off. Then they watched as they loaded her body into the ambulance, and drove away to the hospital.

The whole school came to her funeral. The girls who had fallen in love with her cried as they blew their noses in handkerchiefs. The men, who had respected her when she was thought of as a boy, bowed their heads in sorrow at the beautiful girl who died way too soon. Her father was being supported by the hosts, but he fell to his knees clutching the coffin. The hosts had had cried and mourned, but soon denial came over them.

She couldn't be dead, could she? One minute she was bouncing down the sidewalk, her golden gown flowing around her, and the next the same gown was stained in the crimson color of blood. She had danced with almost the whole room, her laughs would be a perfect substitute for the music.

They thought she would just appear one day, in her yellow Ouran uniform they bought her, and tilt her head to the side and ask them why they were all so depressed. That they would see her barge into the club room one afternoon, explaining why she was late this time. Sometimes, they even called her old cellphone, but the robotic voice on the other end was another reminder that she was gone.

She had gone too soon. She was only 16 years-old when she died on that snowy night. Her whole future was planned out from the very day she watched her frail mother die in that hospital bed. She would've been rich, famous, and possibly find the love of her life. She could have had kids. Kids that she could pass her determination onto. That she could try to morph into better people. So why did she have to die? Hasn't her family been through enough?

Ranak had moved out of the city a year after his daughter's accident. The house held too many memories, so he found remorse in a cheap apartment near the graveyard his wife and daughter were buried in. He visited them every morning, making sure to give each of them their favorite flowers. He cried as he read the tombstone over and over, again. He knew he would never find happiness again. His little girl was dead, and the only person he had to hold onto was Misuzu who visited every week. He always knew death was close, but never had it dawned on him that it was so close to Haruhi.

The boys could never find true love. They turned to lust and one-night-stands, for their substitute in love. A different girl every night, and possibly two. The girls would always slither back and try to force them into a relationship, before crying at being rejected and used for only sex. Their parents became angry that they refused every eligible bride for their sons, and always seemed to ask why they didn't choose one. And they already responded what they always do, it so well etched into their minds they no longer say it with emotion. That the only girl for them was in a peaceful slumber, and was never going to wake up again.

Tamaki hid his depression in his pride. His flamboyant attitude. He thought that since being happy was the opposite of being sad, happiness would overpower sadness, and soon wash it away. His closest friends new that when he was extra bubbly on certain days, he was remembering the dark haired female who could brighten up the room with a smile, or darken the same room with a glare. When nightmares would wake him up in the middle of the night, sweat saturated in his clothes, while he breathed in and out, he would place on his extra wide smile. The fake smile was prominent on his face, and glowed like the sun. It fooled everyone around him, except his friends who could see behind his joyous mask.

Kyoya hid his depression in work. Paper, after paper was filled out and then filed in a matter of seconds. Piles and piles of manilla folders littered the floor and desktops, presenting what looked like a paper cave that led to the mahogany desk that Kyoya was enslaved to. Work gave him an excuse not to sleep, as whenever he closed his his, he would see her lifeless eyes. It gave him an excuse not to go out with his old friends, who he could tell by one look still haven't gotten over the tragic death that happened two long years ago. Though his friends saw through his over-achieving mask, and forced him to come and socialize. When he was in Ouran, he had thought the fluttering in his stomach, the clench of his throat, and the burn of his cheeks, was because she was female, and he was male so it was just hormones. But when he saw her get hit by that truck, that was when he knew he had just lost the love of his life, forever.

Hikaru hid his depression by pulling pranks. Mostly on the new maids him and Kaoru had hired at their new mansion. They would scream, he would laugh, and then Kaoru would scold him yet again for making another employee quit. When he was in high school, he had wanted to go into the electronic profession, just like his father, but after Haruhi died, his motivation died with her. She had been the one to convince him to change the path he was on to one different from his brother. He had opened his heart to her and told her how he really loved working on computers than designing clothes like his twin and mother. Though designing clothes for Haruhi was fun, he would rather be sitting behind a computer screen. So when Haruhi died, he lost the voice he longed to hear everyday, motivating him to chase after his dreams, and catch them before they flew away.

Kaoru hid his depression in art. Splashes of colors decorated many mantels, as did mannequins. Dresses hung from hooks from the previous fashion line, and easels were pushed against the walls. From pencils to markers, they were thrown or forgotten on the floor, desk, even in random drawers. Paper filled with sketches from dresses, to a forest in the setting of fall, were strewn across the room. The only thing that was any indication that this person still knew what it was like to be tidy, was the side wall filled with portraits and portraits of a beautiful girl with dark brown locks. It showed her in a different scene, with a completely different look, in every picture. They were framed in golden frames, the most expensive he could afford, and seemed to glow. The pictures looked so real, like she would walk out of them one day, and laugh, her voice filling up the large room. He had named a fashion line after her, and he had smiled when it became a must-have in the country. Kaoru wished to see her smile again, to wrap his arm possessively around her waist as a signal to other people that she's his. So each day he gazed and gazed at the pictures, waiting for her to make her appearance, and wake up from the long slumber that was cast upon her.

Honey hid his depression in sweets. 5-Star bakeries were built under his name, and only served the richest and finest of them all. He added subtle – but not enough for it to be noticeable – commoner details. He made sure to make each dessert that included strawberries in any way, was either prepared by himself, or one of the finest pastry chefs. He had dedicated a whole pastry shop to his high school crush, and named it after her. Though, he was usually the one who tried to brighten the mood when he was with his friends, afraid that if he didn't, they would all get sucked into an invisible void and never be able to come out.

Mori hid his depression in kendo. Dojos were built all over the country, training people, from young to old, how to defend yourself. He too, named a dojo after the only girl he opened his heart to, and the rich society began to wonder whose face belonged to the name. He had given up his dreams on being a lawyer. It was strange, but he had always wanted to go into law. And he was looking forward to working with Haruhi once she graduated law school. He knew he wouldn't have been half as good as her, and he wanted to enjoy seeing her fight hard to defend her client. But once his dearest princess died, he lost the fire that was burning inside him to go after his dreams. So he just settled for taking over his families company, just like what was planned for him to do his whole life.

People began to wonder why this woman's name was popping up in three out of the seven richest families in Japan. If she had been anyone important, they would all know who the mystery girl was. First the name pops up in a Hitachiin fashion line, which was based on causal clothing to wear, but with a rich flair to it., which struck the other rich families as odd. But they shrugged it off, thinking the meaning of the name – spring day – had something to to with it. Then a pastry shop opened up on Tokyo, with the same exact name.

Naturally, questions had been asked, interviews had been made on live television, and it got to the point where some delusional women of the same name (be it rich or not) claimed that it was them the six elite men were fawning over. But they publicly embarrassed the women, stating that it was not them. When asked who it was, they just smiled a sad smiled, and seemed to go into flashbacks.

Though one nosy reporter couldn't fathom the idea of six hosts all basing their success on one woman. So she poked and prodded, and finally found her answer. The girls name had been Fujioka Haruhi, had a scholarship at Ouran Academy, and was in the same club as the bachelors she was digging information on. The she read that the young girl had died in her second year, the night after a big school dance. When she presented the ex-hosts with her new found information, their faces twisted in sadness. Haunted eyes widened in shock as she showed them a photo of the girl, before it was swiped out of her hands by the fiery red-headed twin. After that, she was banned from the country, but it was already too late, and almost everyone now knew of the famous Fujioka Haruhi, a mere commoner who had bestowed this anguish on the rich bachelors, and died way too young, on that tragic snowy night.

They never forgot how close death was. Each day they lived in fear that it would be them next. They sometimes wondered if Haruhi was cold when winter rolled around the corner. If she was happy where she was now. And if she missed them as much as they missed her. They would never forget the beautiful, naiive, and smart girl they had all come to love. And she taught them that death was always closer than it appears, no matter how safe you think you are.


End file.
